1. Aching for His Touch

Transcript

I entered the elevator on the bottom floor of one of the biggest apartment buildings in New York City. I was on my way to see Antonio Suarez, a big client at the art gallery where I worked. He was an investor who would come by the gallery whenever we'd update our collection.

The two of us had exchanged pleasantries on several occasions. I was always keen to get his attention, but he had such an air of mystery about him that I could never quite be sure if he was interested in more than a professional conversation. His eyes, dark and mesmerizing, were always so intense when he spoke.

He was handsome, but it was more than that. There was just something about the gentle, confident grin that always danced over his lips. The man knew exactly what he wanted and when he wanted it.

I couldn't help but admire that. This morning we started talking about his extensive art collection, and I was blown away by his exquisite taste. The rarity of his pieces was enough to entice any art lover.

I didn't know what to respond when he suggested I come take a look. Was it an actual invitation, or was he just being polite? If it's the latter, I'm in for an awkward evening.

Hmm. Okay. Okay.

Hello, Grace. Hi. May I take your coat? Sure.

I could feel my pulse racing as I turned with my back towards him. His fingers brushed my bare shoulders as he pulled my coat away, and I had to fight to not shiver. I was wearing a white silk blouse with a high neck and a deep back.

I turned to see his eyes on me. You look lovely. Thank you.

I looked behind him and saw a sculpture displayed proudly by the large open windows in the living room. As much as I enjoyed looking at him, I couldn't help but be drawn to his artwork. Is that a Koh-i-na-wa? He nodded, walking over to inspect the sculpture with me as if he hadn't walked by it every day in his apartment.

Hmm. I find this piece wonderful. The darkness around the person below.

It should be overpowering, but somehow. .. It's comforting.

Would you like a glass of wine? Yes, please. Another big smile slid over his lips as he gathered two stems.

His hands were steady and he moved with deliberation as he uncorked the wine. He moved slowly, never rushed. I tried not to stare at his hands and imagined them all over my body.

His brown eyes didn't leave mine as the red wine filled the glasses. I couldn't help but wonder if this was more than just an invitation to discuss his collection. The way he was looking at me, the wine.

It certainly felt like a date, but then I couldn't really be sure. Are you an artist, Grace? You seem to have an eye for beautiful things.

Yes. Well, I love to paint, but I couldn't say it's very good. Where does your interest for art come from, then? Oh, um, my grandmother.

She was an artist. She painted these beautiful, abstract, expressionist pieces. I spent the afternoons in her studio when I was little, helping her stretch canvases and mix paint.

Um, and what about you? Do you paint? I've always dreamed of being an artist, but I'm afraid my talents are elsewhere.

Finance, mostly. I always seem to know when to invest and when to wait it out. Something in the air shifted when he said those words.

The way he was looking at me made my heart flutter. Is that what he was doing with me here? Trying it out? If so, I was happy to play his game.

At least for a little longer. Timing is everything, isn't it? That's a big part of my job.

Finding the right artist and promoting their work at the right moment. When the market is ready for their approach, I imagine it's similar in business. Choosing the right idea at the right time.

He takes sips of his wine before answering me. Yes, the right idea at the right time. Timing is everything.

He let his words hang in the air, looking at me. I break first. His eyes were so intense, I have to look away.

We chat for another hour, walking through his lovely home and talking about his favorite works. It's one of the most refreshing conversations I've had in a long time. Nothing we're saying is explicit, but the chemistry between us makes every word feel.

.. naughty. Like I'm making him an offer.

Finally, I realized I hadn't seen the piece I was the most interested in. Didn't you say you had a Helen Frankenthaler? I'd love to see it.

Yes. It's in my bedroom. This way.

His bedroom was exactly what one would assume. Elegant with rich colors and fabrics. Everything just screamed manly.

The headboard of his keen-sized bed was intricately designed as if commissioned by a master craftsman. As I approached the bed, I noticed something. ..

interesting. From far away, it was just a tastefully decorated piece of furniture. But when you got closer, you could see leather straps installed at each end.

One for every corner. Brown leather cuffs hung from the straps and rested conspicuously in little slots made into the bed frame. I was suddenly very aware of the heat of Antonio's body standing behind me.

He was standing so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my neck. It made me shiver and long to feel every inch of him pressed against me. I knew I was interested in him before, but now that we're alone, and in his bedroom no less, it was much more than just interest.

I wanted him more intensely than I'd ever wanted anyone in my life. I caught my breath and turned around, staring up into his brown eyes. Pure arousal was ridden all over his face.

There was no mistaking the heat between us now. Um, the first time you were at the gallery, did you ask my colleague for my number? Yes.

Why? You never used it. No.

Not yet. What were you going to use it for? Why do you think? I.

.. I don't know. To ask for my advice on a piece? To ask if you'll have dinner with me.

He leaned in closer and paused, letting the intensity of the moment draw out. I could feel my body respond. I was aching for his touch, but something deep inside wanted him to take what he wanted.

The room suddenly grew warmer as his hand slid down my cheek and into my hair. I closed my eyes, focusing solely on his breathing and the sensation of his hands against my skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was breathless and excited.

Grace, may I kiss you? Mm-hmm. I'm not sure if it was the electricity in the room or the soft caress of his strong hands, but I couldn't take another moment of waiting.

I threw my arms around his neck and moaned into his mouth. He pulled me against him, wrapping me up in passion and urgency. I could feel his excitement through the thin material of his pants.

And I wanted more. The kiss deepened and I could feel his heartbeat raging against mine. I never wanted it to stop.

He slid his tongue into my mouth and gripped my ass hard with both hands. His lips were suddenly on my neck, his teeth gracing my soft skin with a deep, primal growl. A loud moan escaped my lips, and he reacted by digging his fingers into my hair and tugging my head back.

Is this okay? Yes. I want you to be rough as me.

How rough? As rough as you want to be. Please.

He studied my face for a few moments, assessing the gravity of my words. We were both shivering and gasping for breath, but he clearly wanted to stay in control of himself. I can be rough.

I want to be rough. But I need to know that you will tell me to stop if I take it too far. Yes.

Yes, I promise. I promise. Say stop, and I will.

No questions asked. I understand. All right.

Raise your arms for me. © transcript Emily Beynon.